


If

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Song fic, the return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: inspired by a comment on a story....IfIf a picture paints a thousand words,Then why can't I paint you?The words will never show the you I've come to know.If a face could launch a thousand ships,Then where am I to go?There's no one home but you,You're all that's left me too.And when my love for life is running dry,You come and pour yourself on me.-written by David Gates
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 36





	If

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlwaysJohn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/gifts).



He was seeing him again, the mop of dark curls, the angled face, eyes - he never did know what colour they really were, as they had seemed to serve as a sign to his ever changing mood. He'd see him in passing, a twirl of a coat, a flash of purple, or blue, and he would have to remind himself to breathe. 

He had one good photo of him, a rare moment after a case was wrapped up, John had surprised him in some way, and he had turned and grinned shyly at him, captured only by chance by Lestrade's phone camera. He had emailed the photo to him after - after. Damn.

He rubbed his face then turned onto Baker Street. He really should find another place, but Mrs Hudson wouldn't hear of him leaving, and besides, he took some perverse enjoyment from antagonising Mycroft - he was a constant reminder that he had failed - no. They had all failed him. He had spent the first few weeks trying to work out how it could've ended differently, if he had only been two, three minutes earlier - they should have - could have -

He stopped short. On the stoop in front of the door to 221B was a man, or at least the shape of one. He froze for the briefest of moments as the figure turned to face him. 

No. 

Nope. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, and shook his head, even as he moved close enough to touch him, close enough to drop to his knees and place a trembling hand on his face. He nodded and withdrew his hand, then without a word, helped the silent figure to his feet, and through the door once he finally managed to get the door open. He glanced at the stairs, then at the man next to him, and realised there was no way he could climb the stairs, as at the moment, he was barely standing. He sighed, dropped his bag, then carefully lifted him into his arms. He pressed his face into the tangled mass of curls and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Sherlock," then carried him up the seventeen steps. 

"John?" The rough voice whispered and John dropped the book he was holding, but not reading, and started to get to his feet. "No - don't."

"Sherlock." John watched as Sherlock tried to stand, then dropped to his knees in front of the couch. "Idiot," he murmured as he quickly moved towards him, then fell to his knees and waited, unsure if he should touch him, when Sherlock shifted, leaned into his chest and let out a relieved sob. John's arms settled around his slight, shivering shoulders and held on as tightly as he dared. There were so many questions he wanted answers for, so much he needed to say, but as Sherlock's shoulders shook, and his shirt became damp from his tears, none of it seemed to matter so much anymore.

"Stay," Sherlock whimpered, a question in his voice as his fingers tightened their grip on John's shirt.

"Yeah. Not going anywhere. Promise."


End file.
